


Memory of a Boy

by EnolaRaven



Category: Peter Pan - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Fantasy, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-19
Updated: 2005-06-19
Packaged: 2017-10-09 16:18:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/89315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnolaRaven/pseuds/EnolaRaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Behind a door that no one sees is a room that no one remembers, and within this dark, abandoned space, are scattered the trappings of a forsaken child.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memory of a Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Memory of a Boy

Memory of a Boy

Within the Captain's cabin, aboard the _Jolly Roger_, there is a door that no one can see, hidden behind a tapestry plundered from some mansion or another long ago. It is not a fancy door but it is stout, fitted with a shiny brass latch and a strong lock that has no key. Carved into the doorjamb, running from handle height to somewhat above, are a series of horizontal marks, each one proudly notated with a date and one of two letters. If one were to see the marks and cared to compare the dates – ah, but there is no one who can see, much less one who _cares_, and so it does not matter what hints those marks might reveal about the young ones they measured over the years.

Behind this door that no one sees is a room that no one remembers. It is a small room, large enough only for a single bed, two small trunks that reside across from it, and enough floor space between for two lads to kneel at their evening prayers. A small window beside the bed once provided illumination, but now the thick glass is darkened by pitch and filth, forgotten and neglected by the crew. Within this dark, abandoned space, are scattered the trappings of a forsaken child.

The walls are festooned with bits of parchment, cut into an assortment of shapes and scrawled upon with the imaginings of little-boy minds. A yellowed, cross-stitched sampler hangs above the head of the bed, embroidered with a child's prayer – the litany so deeply ingrained a ritual that, even when all else lay forgotten, random lines and phrases are still remembered and whispered in times of distress. A few dusty, broken toys are scattered about the floor, left mid-play by small hands that never returned. A very worn, very dusty, velveteen dog lays upon the pillow, which still bears the indention left by a childish head and a few strands of fair hair.

And upon this forgotten bed, within its tousled sheets, lay the memory of a boy, sleeping deeply, dreaming darkly. For untold years he's slept, dreaming the dreams that all children dream, lying undisturbed and un-remembered. But lately, his dreams have turned to darker memories, recalling times of grief, longing, and rejection. Sometimes, in the darkest of night, the memory of a boy cries out in lonely despair, desperately trying to awaken and call out to the ones he loved, needing the reassurance of strong arms holding him tight.

On those nights sometimes, just sometimes, the man in the Captain's cabin awakens with a start, sitting up suddenly in his bed with a forgotten name upon his lips. James squints about his stately room, frantically searching for the boy whose voice awakened him. And for a brief moment, looking towards the tapestry with a confused frown, he almost _knows _that something is not as it was long ago. But always, just before he can remember what he's lost, the dream falls from him and he lays back upon his pillow with a bitter laugh, chiding himself for his foolish imaginings. There is no child, there's _never _been a child, and most certainly there has never been a child that ever lived who could strike such a chord of parental, protective fear within his heart. Then, as always, he drifts back into sleep, dreaming proper pirate dreams, failing yet again to find the little child who once was his. And in the forgotten room, the memory of a boy weeps anew in his endless sleep, rejected and alone.

During those nights on the island, in a hidden room buried beneath a hollow tree, lies the rest of a boy – the part that memory is _not _ – weeping in the aftermath of his nightmare, despair clinging even as the images fade. No longer is there a Wendy to hold him and soothe away his tears, no longer are there snoring fellow boys for him to awaken and play with until the dark feelings are forgotten once more. Peter is alone, with no one to love him anymore, and so he lies awake in the night, trying desperately to grasp and hold the memory of a boy he pursued in his dreams – and he wonders, fearfully, if it is a boy he once was, or a boy he might have been.

His sobs taper off and his eyes open, fixing upon a small table across the room, dimly lit by Tinker Bell's sleeping light. Atop this table sits an open box, its sides and lid engraved with Pixy, Elfish, and Dwarven runes, woven into a powerful spell. Within this box lies a glowing crystal orb, thousands of bright pinpricks of light shining like stars in its depths. Peter watches with a yearning fear as those stars swirl about, speaking to him as only stars can. They tell him that he has only to take up the stone to discover the answers to the riddle of his being, and discover at last the truth of the boy in his dreams.

But Peter remembers the last time he dared to touch the stone, the pain of that contact so intense that it's seared itself within his memory as no other experience has ever managed before. So much pain, so much overwhelming grief! He'd felt that he should die from the intensity of it all. It haunts his heart still and part of him agrees with Tink that he should rebury the box within the earthen wall of his home and forget that he'd ever found it. But it holds the answers, and painful though it was, he senses that it also holds a brighter truth of love and joy, hidden somewhere beyond the agony. Perhaps one day he'll be strong enough to hold on tight and ride out the pain…

Conflicted and afraid, Peter finally tears his gaze away from the orb and rolls to face the wall, closing his eyes tightly. He doesn't want to know, not tonight, not here where there's no one who can hold him and soothe away his pain.

"Tink?" the boy calls, awakening his fairy caretaker. The girl chimes groggily, annoyed at being pulled awake but still solicitous of the anxiety her boy's voice conveys. "The box opened itself again. Close it please?" She chimes to him soothingly as she flies across the room and Peter smiles at her soft words of comfort and caring. Then the box snaps shut and the boy gasps with sudden relief, the weight of pressing memory and heavy emotion lifting from him all at once, leaving only a sense of exhaustion in its wake. A muttered "thanks" is all he has the energy for now, and within moments he is drifting into sleep once more, this time dreaming of happy things, dreams that a child _should _dream.

The disturbance now passed, the memory of a boy sighs and stills, falling deeper into dreams. Aboard the ship, all who'd known him once upon a time also sigh in their sleep, sharing in their unconscious relief. And the hidden door to the forgotten room remains closed and locked and unseen.

* * *

A/N: I'm not certain if this will be a one-shot, or if I'll make it into a full fic. I'm not even sure if the dang thing makes any sense. Any comments/criticism are welcome! If it doesn't make sense, the premise is that Peter is Hook's son, but neither of them remember due to the fairies' magic. If you like, I may contine the fic to explore their past and future as first Hook and then Peter recover their memories and try to decide if they can ever again be a family.  



End file.
